


BRUISED LIPS;

by hoodlum (HOODLUM)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Physical Abuse, Policeman Liam, Prostitute Harry, Rentboy!Harry, Rentboys, Sad Harry, Smut, almost as much as the sad, basically a lot of gay sex, but more sad moping harry tbh, it was painful to write, lil bits of sad pining zarry btw its a larry fic ppl, rentboy au, sad things everywhere, such sad, the butt stuff everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HOODLUM/pseuds/hoodlum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i></i>
</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>Harry tried to get the upper hand in a world that only dealt him losing cards, and Louis just wants to fix him. </i><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	BRUISED LIPS;

**Author's Note:**

> This took me months to finish, mostly because I would write some, then get too sad, then stop for weeks. Then continue. his became a nasty cycle, you feel me? I've written half of the next chapter, but I should finish it next week, so I'll try to update every Saturday/Every other Saturday.
> 
> Anyway, as you can see, this isn't exactly a nicey-nicey fic, and I hope that none of you beautiful people are effected by these things, but if you are, I would recommend not reading this. Plea read the tags and be safe. 
> 
> Love, Luna

** part i;  **

“ _I’m not brave any more darling. I’m all broken. They’ve broken me._ ”   
― Ernest Hemingway, _A Farewell to Arms_

 

Books smelt like warm summer sun, something old and knowing about them, it was something Harry would never get sick of. Or the way sharpened pencils felt when they were used to write across a blank answer sheet. Harry should be doing that. He should be getting his results back today, deciding where he was going to go for university. But he wasn’t. That wasn’t his life, that’s not what he was going to do, because this was his life. Nights were the only thing that belonged to this nineteen year old. 

Harry’s slim fingers ran over the only book he’d ever owned, A Farewell to Arms, the only thing he was ever allowed to own. The pages were weathered down, worn, dog eared, some suspicious stains in odd places, and yet it was the single most important thing this teenager possessed. 

He shifted in his stained shared mattress, blinking awake properly, tucking his book under the bed (if you could even call it that) and peering around the room. It was around three in the afternoon, he had a good few hours until he had to work, so he stood, eyes catching on the half clothed girl on the floor. Her eyes were blinking sleepily, and he would’ve thought that way if he hadn’t seen the cloth wrapped tightly around her bicep or the used needle on the floor. Harry made it a habit not to look too long. 

With a building housing almost twenty people, and one shower, it was a rare occasion that any hot water was _ever_ in their pipes, so Harry had been dealing with the lukewarm water. His unsocked feet dragged across the floor as he switched on the bathroom light, gently kicking the door shut behind him so he could look at his face in detail. 

Dark purple bruises flowered under the pale skin of his jaw, and a split lip, he’d expected worse. He’d _had_ worse. The curly haired boy pushed his fringe back, fragile fingers petting softly over his tender skin, wanting to apologize to the skin he wore for what he put it through. Harry opened his mouth to brush his teeth, a crunch sounding so loud his eyes watered, shutting it immediately. He reached his hand up, cupping it gently as if it would heal. Angry tears formed in his eyes, and if his jaw wasn’t broken then his teeth would be grinding. 

Making sure not to open his mouth, Harry slipped into their dingy shower, turning on the feeble jet of water, and washing the smell of different men off of him. He was careful with the bruises on his hips and his thighs, washing any dried cum off, quickly scrubbing at his curls before switching it off; knowing if his shower was longer than five minutes then Ben would drag him out by his hair. 

As disgusting as it was, this was the last pair of jeans he had before he would need to do his washing, so he slipped his legs into his four day old pair of jeans, lacking underwear as that also needed to be washed. He made a mental note to tell Niall to come with him to the launderette soon. 

When he got to his room, (if you could call it his), he pulled a fresh black t-shirt out of the draws against the grey wall, slipping it over his head. After quickly searching for a pen, Harry went over to where Niall was sleeping silently, and taking his hand softly, writing as carefully, and gently as he could on the back of it. 

_Gone to Hospital. Jaw. See you tonight,  
H. x _

Knowing that he’d never be allowed to go to the hospital, because Ben didn’t want ‘poxy authorities sticking their noses in’, he attempted to avoid seeing Ben on his way out of the house. Harry’d made it downstairs before he tripped over one of the girls legs, falling right into the doorframe, his jaw jarring. His eyes scrunched together, whimpering pathetically and trying not to clench his jaw at the pain. After taking slow steady breaths, he realized that Ben, Zayn and Paddy were sitting at the table in the living room, staring at the skinny boy braced against the door. 

Ben’s eyebrow rose inquisitively, “You going somewhere?” he asked loudly, eyes already attempting to read Harry. It wasn’t always like this. Ben used to look after him. 

Harry had been fifteen, and out on the streets. He’d had a row with his mother, big enough for him to want to storm out of the house. He had the intention to make it back home eventually, just after he’d cooled off—scared his mum a little, so she’d think he wouldn’t come home. Thing is, he didn’t. Harry, being young and naïve got on a train, wandering the city. 

He decided at an ungodly hour in the morning that he should be getting home, but when he got to the train station it was bolted over, shut. Harry cried. He cried so hard, and so loud that his breathing became irregular, so much so that he thought he was going to have an asthma attack. Young Harry had thought it would be a brilliant idea to find somewhere to sleep for the night, and in doing so ran into Ben. Initially the older man had just stared at the small boy, with hot tears streaming down his face, and Harry had been scared that he was going to hurt him. 

But then Ben took him back to his house, feeding him, cooing over the little one, as well as the numbers of women in the home. He hadn’t connected the dots back then. Harry had been given his own room, and looked after. The next day, Harry decided that he didn’t want to go home just yet, he liked it there. No school. No mother nagging him. He could do whatever he wanted. 

It was well over a month before Harry told Ben he wanted to leave, and that’s when Ben changed. “Why’d you want to leave me, Harry” he had said, eyebrows bunched, “I love you, and I look after you, no ones gonna treat you better, Haz” he had cooed, bringing him closer and cuddling with him. 

Fifteen year old Harry had been drawn in with false words of love, and compassion, and by the time he had worked out where he was, and what Ben was, it was too late to go home. Harry had dug himself a hole, here, he was stuck, with no way to get out. And as Ben told him every time Harry wanted to go home, his family didn’t even look for him, or want him anymore. He was wanted here. Loved. 

A hand slammed down on the table, making the baggies on the table jump, Harry snapping out of his daze. “I asked you a question” he barked, his mood shifting from mildly irritated to a full on rage. Harry swallowed, “I have a check up, I know how you like us to make sure we’re clean” he replied weakly, trying hardest not to open his jaw too much, and show he was in pain. 

Ben’s face softened, blood shot eyes slightly less hard, “C’mere Haz” he cooed, much like he used to when he was younger. Doing as he was told, on slightly shaky legs, Harry walked over to Ben, sitting on his lap when he was indicated to do so. 

“You’re my favourite, yeah? Always doing as your told” Ben praised, pressing soft kisses down Harry’s neck, making the curly haired male flush. Ben might be harsh sometimes, but in moments like this Harry knew in his bones that Ben cared about him, that Ben would never let anything too bad happen to him. He was his favourite. Ben pinched Harry’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, making Harry wince a little, before kissing him softly. When he pulled back, he let his eyes dip softly to Zayn, watching the way his shook his head ever so slightly, fingers running through his messy quiff. “Alright, off you go, we have things to do” he said, swatting Harry’s bum brashly as he got up, making his stumble his steps towards the door, his rabbiting heart slowing down slightly. 

He didn’t like Ben like that, at all. He didn’t want to kiss him, but he knew that he had to because if he didn’t he would be in trouble. That’s just the sort of thing you needed to put up with around here. 

It was a Friday, which meant that business would be good, but also that Reading Hospital would be heaving the later it got into the day. Harry walked as fast a possible, in an attempt to warm his toes and to get there faster, but even then the walk took near enough forty minutes. 

The curly haired boy lingered outside, watching as people filtered in and out, going by there daily lives. Sometimes it was nice, interesting to see how the other half lived. Not many people knew that prostitution took place in somewhere like London, because it’s supposed to be a civilized city. Harry watched as a small green eyed boy was carried in by his father, tears shimmering in his eyes as his mother and sister cooed over him, bottom lips in their mouths worriedly. Usually it’s interesting to watch how the other half lived. But now it just made him feel goddamn depressed.

Maybe it was the fact he’d been living in the shadows for the best part of five years, or maybe he’d just gotten used to crammed, dank spaces, but hospitals had always made him feel uneasy. The clinical lighting burned his eyes so much he had to shield them, rubbing at them a little before he made his way to the main counter. 

“Name, sweetie” a women with pastel hair asked, her eyes not straying from the book in front of her. Without even a blink, Harry spoke, “Jasper Noel”, he replied coolly, knowing he could never use his real name. That’s what Ben had always told him, that as soon as they know it they check records, and they meddle, and they’d ruin everything. Ever since then he’d been going by that alias. Not to anyone in the house, but outside of it he went by Jasper. 

This time the nurse (?) looked up, mouth open as she was about to speak, before her mouth snapped shut. Staring at Harry a little. Harry tried not to make eye contact, feeling uncomfortable as she scanned over his obviously shady demeanor. He coughed a little, scratching at the back of his neck, and that seemed to have her out of her revere, now typing on her computer. “And what’s your emergency?” she asked, sounding more concerned than she had before hand—now she’d seen his face, he supposed. Did he really look that bad? 

“Um, jaw?” he answered like a question, his nerves racking up just because he was here. His heart was pounding so hard that his breathing was almost uneven, and he knew he was sweating. God, he must look like a junkie; skin and bone, paper pale, and sweating. Like that wouldn’t send of alarm bells. She typed away still, asking more questions that Harry had already fabricated the answers to, this not being his first time at the hospital, using a different name each time. “Alright, I think that it’ll be about an hours wait before you even see a doctor, love, it’s pretty busy as you can see” she said, eyes kind and her voice soft. 

Harry’s eyes shot up to the clock, it was already five, he couldn’t lose business tonight. He’d never not made the ‘quota’, but he’d seen girls who hadn’t. Harry couldn’t lose an hour, or possibly more. His green eyes watered, he’d already wasted forty minutes walking out here when he could have been washing his clothes or doing something instead. “Is there no way you could-“ his voice broke a little, knowing that he must look like a right mess, “I’m in a rush, see, and I need to be out by seven”, Harry said, his voice still warbling a little, trying to take calming breaths as not to bring more attention as to how he was losing his composure. The girl behind the counter seemed to scrutinize him before nodding, “Yeah, in certain cases we may bump people to the top, go right through” she said, picking up the phone as she buzzed him through. 

As Harry walked through the door, he ran his fingers through his hair, gripping tightly at the base of his scalp and tugging harshly. He’s drawn too much notice to himself. He’s going to get questions. Hopefully the doctor would play dumb. With any luck he’d be seen by the same man who stitched his top lip last year when his punter lost it. 

After only a ten minute wait Harry was directed through a door, to a doctor sitting solemnly at a desk. “Alright kid, sit up here” he gestured to the plush seat against the wall, and Harry followed through, sitting on it, the tips of his feet touching the ground. The tension in the air was thick, clearly the doctor had been informed of how odd he was acting, and the fact that there are no documents in his name. Quickly his mind started working, manufacturing an answer to any question that could be thrown at him. 

“I got hit by a door.” Harry said meekly, the doctor giving him a knowing look, aware that Harry was fibbing. The rest of the session was in uncomfortable silence, questions being asked about his jaw ( _“Where does it hurt”, “Along the side, and my cheekbone”, “How wide can you open it”, “No more than this”_ ). After an x-ray, the doctor indicated that he had three fractures across his cheekbone, and jaw, telling him that it would take around two months to heal properly, and it can’t be fixed other than giving him some painkillers, however as he said it, Harry sensed the unease at giving him them, almost as if he didn’t want to tell him. His eyes narrowed slightly, “I’ll go without them” he answered, painfully, “Thank you” Harry said stiffly before standing, making his way out of the practice. 

Harry was making his way through the hospital halls, he heard faster falling footsteps behind him, and not long after his ‘name’, “Jasper” the male voice called, obviously strained, panting. He stopped, knowing that he would only draw more scrutiny to himself if he ran, turning to face a somewhat puppy looking lad, tall, build, a chest puffed out enough to mean he was a police officer. Harry let out a hopefully unnoticeably trembled breath, “Yes?” he answered, eyes blinking up slow, innocently. 

“Detective Liam Payne”, _fuck_ , that meddling nurse couldn’t just leave it, she’s only gone and made it much worse calling police in. She’ll never know the gravity of the damage she’s caused. 

* * *

Liam spoke to him like he was worth more than a dirty whore, but an answer didn’t come from his bruised lips, because Ben had taught him better. Cops were untrustworthy, fucking corrupted pigs, is what Ben called them. Liam didn’t understand that this is a conversation Harry could be _murdered_ for, if anyone found out about this Harry would be here today gone tomorrow, with nothing but his mattress and his novel to prove that he existed. 

Detective Payne kept asking him the same question, “who’re you working for?”, and Harry just shook his head, “You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, mate”, he answered fearfully, words holding no actual weight to them. He was as see through as cellophane. When Liam had told him who he was, Harry had near enough had a panic attack. Liam had to usher him into a seat, and calm him down. Police, he could handle, _detective_ , that was a whole ‘nother matter. Why would a detective care about someone as insignificant as him? 

Harry’s green eyes snapped to the clock, it was approaching seven, and he needed to get out. So he stood, and so did Liam, the man looking more distressed then he did when Harry had turned to look at him. The pair walked somberly to the automatic glass doors of the hospital exit, and Liam grabbed Harry’s wrist just as he was about to leave, “I know it’s hard” he attempted to reassure, and Harry seemed to well up at that, immediately wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck, pulling him into a hug. He pressed his face into the others neck, his poise finally crumbling under the straight of being a prostitute and a punching bag. He felt Liam slip a card into his back pocket, “Please use it,” he begged softly into the boys ear before pulling back. Harry nodded, swiping harshly under his eyes before turning and walking back where he came. 

The clock numbers on his mediocre phone read seven twenty, which gave him twenty minutes to get to a pub on the other side of the town—something he would’ve been able to made had he been at the house. So, doing something he rarely would have, Harry pulled out what little change he had in his pocket, and got on the next bus to the bar in which his usual pick ups are.

For the entire duration of the ten minute journey Harry gnawed at the skin around his thumb nail, tearing the skin away and chewing on it nervously, the note in his pocket burning a red hot hole. He didn’t even know what it was, but he did. Liam kept telling him that he needed to contact the police, so it was probably a number to reach him if he needed to speak to him, but he didn’t _know_ , because he refused to look. He didn’t need Ben to see that he was lying, how can he be lying if he didn’t know? Therefore it was safe not to look. So he left it, scorching against his leg. 

By the time he’d gotten to the bar he’d forgotten all about the note, (or he pretended he had), and instead made it his prerogative to loiter around the front, leaning against one of the slightly more shadowed walls and sliding a cigarette between his teeth, something that he’d learnt from Zayn would draw more customers, and give an excuse as to why he was outside for hours on end. 

Not before long, Harry’s eyes lingered on a slightly stocky looking man, his gaze fixed on Harry. The boy took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the floor and crushing it with the tip of his converse, taking slow strides towards the male. The trick was to be confident. You act submissive, you get treated as a submissive and therefore kicked around, and he couldn’t afford being hurt anymore. 

“I’ll pay one eighty and no more” the man gruffed out, and Harry nodded in return, not daring to speak because he usually charged one fifty for a good fuck, which is probably what the man wanted. He wasn’t tall, only coming up to Harry’s cheekbone, and his hair was thinning out, greying too. Definitely wasn’t the most attractive man he’d ever had, but not the worst, and for the price he was paying, Harry wasn’t going to complain. Not one bit. 

Not even when the man shoved him into the back seat of a Mercedes so hard he hit his head against the other door. Not even when he kissed him, and bit his lip so brutally that it bled. Not even when he entered Harry without opening him up first. Not even when he fucked him up against the window, tears streaming down the youngers face, so sure that he was bleeding. Not even when he was pushed out the door with two-hundred in his hand, his trousers not even pulled up fully. 

By eleven, Harry smelt like dried cum and several different blokes, but he had near enough nine-hundred quid in his pocket. Ben only expected him to make six, so he could keep the rest for himself. He wasn’t supposed to, but it was something that Zayn had taught him when he first got here, that if you kept the extra you could actually feed yourself, and clothe yourself. As long as you gave Ben what you owed him, then you were alright. Everything was okay.   
Harry was tired, his arse was sore, and his jaw ached. He just wanted to get home, lie down in his bed with a cup of tea (that he would probably have to buy while he was out now), and drift off. The teen was leaving the back of the pub when a thick hand yanked at his wrist, “Kid” the voice grumbled, “How much for a fuck?” he asked. 

He pushed his hair off his fringe, slowly trying to wriggle his wrist out of the others grip (unsuccessfully), “Sorry, I’m off duty, pal” Harry stated, still trying to pry himself away from the man. “What?” he snarled, yanking him closer before pressing the lad up against a wall, “I just saw you give a blowie over there, you’re bloody not ‘off duty’”, he mimicked Harry’s voice. His throat had gotten incredibly tight, mouth dry as he tried to think of a way out of this situation, “No, I don’t—Stop!” Harry yelped as the man began to tug on his jeans, pressing his hard on against Harry’s leg and rocking against him. “You like that don’t you, slut,” he mumbled against his neck, biting harshly as Harry pushed at him hard, but not managing to get him off. 

Just as he was about to give up, let the man fuck him and pay him the weight dropped suddenly, Harry’s back sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, shaking slightly, eyes scrunched up tight. 

When his eyes opened, they landed on the man on the floor, who was lying on his side, face away from Harry, and then they moved up to the man standing above him. “Are you alright, kid?” a soft voice asked, (he guessed it belonged to the man?), and Harry nodded furiously, scrambling up. 

“Hey—Hey” the man soothed, resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “you were like attacked, don’t you wanna sit down or something?”, he was obviously very concerned for Harry, and if he wasn’t so shocked he would be laughing. “It’s alright, I’m used to it” he responded, a little shakily if he did say so himself. 

The male in question frowned, “Well then maybe you should stop going out so late” he said, and Harry cocked his head. Did he not see it? Anyone within a mile radius could tell that Harry was a dirty prostitute. At least that’s what Ben said, and it even seemed like it. Instead of replying Harry just blinked slowly at the other. 

A hand thrust out, “Louis” he introduced himself as, and Harry took it shyly, shaking it slowly. “Uh…Jasper” he eventually returned, the ma-- _Louis_ smiling, all tiny sharp teeth and crinkly eyes. The kind of smile someone like Harry never saw. “Well, Jasper, feel like getting a coffee or something? It might calm you down before you get yourself home”, and Harry was so close to saying no. _No, can’t you see what I am? No, I need to pay my pimp. No, if I don’t get home soon I’ll be killed_. But for a second Harry thought. He was going to get a tea anyway, wasn’t he? What was going to be so bad about having some company with him. 

“Yeah, actually, yeah” Harry said, gracing the other with a dimpled smile. “Sick, there’s a coffee shop just around the corner. It’s always open” Louis jerked his head towards the direction of it, and Harry nodded, beginning to walk with Louis towards the shop. It was in moments like this where Harry forgot that his life was far from normal. When he was around people like Louis, he could pretend that he had a family to go back to, and he was eagerly awaiting acceptance letters from his unis. Harry deserved little moments to at least pretend that his life was mediocrely average instead of the shit storm he’d been granted.

**Author's Note:**

> (❛ัॢᵕ❛ั ॢ)✩*ೃ.⋆kudos n comments make me write faster⋆.*ೃ✩(❛ั ॢᵕ❛ัॢ)


End file.
